


Going Home

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [60]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Family, Fate & Destiny, Feels, Gods, Meet the Family, Reconciliation, Surprises, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: Buffy and Dean talk about their future. Meanwhile, Gabriel's presence draws out several surprise visitors.





	Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Discussions of miscarriage and abortion.

The water turned pink with blood as Buffy tried to rinse her mouth. She didn’t remember how her mouth had gotten bloody, yet she had the spine-shivering knowledge that the blood wasn’t hers.

Some events were flashes. Others hazes. And some were slow-motion nightmares rendered in hyperreal detail.

_When she had hit the fountain, hoping it was still a portal, cold zapped the air from her lungs, like an iceberg was sitting on her chest. Then blackness. Flashes of blood and the feel of fingernails scraping inside her skull. She didn’t remember anything solid until she was standing in front of her house wrapped in Dean’s arms._

_“Just in time.” The demon had used the same sing-songy lilt in Buffy’s head that she’d heard from its previous vessel. “Last time I saw Dean with a blonde, I killed her. This time we’re going to have extra fun,_ Girly _. I’m gonna make you eat your boyfriend’s face before you kill all the girls in your house.”_

_Buffy had been trained to fight evil with her body; no one prepared her for evil taking it over. She tried to scream, to warn Dean. She tried to hold her arms down instead of brandishing a knife at the man she loved. She tried to keep her mouth shut, but the demon spilled her secrets after repainting them in lurid, unrecognizable colors._

The back of her head pounded where there was a small gash. Small bruises dotted her arms. She touched the face of her reflection and half expected it to flinch.

Buffy slipped into the shallow, chilly bath and scrubbed herself until her skin tingled. A demon had been in her head, picking over her thoughts like trash. It cheered on Spike’s attempted rape, repeated Angelus’ taunts, and cackled at the pain in Dean’s eyes when her mouth was forced to say “baby.”

Wrapping herself in a towel, she tried to sneak into her room, but Dawn and Willow ambushed her with hugs and apologies. Her sister cried from her two perfectly good eyes. Buffy couldn’t accept their apologies. She didn’t want to think about their coup, so small in scale on this side of demon possession.

One thought bobbed above the others. “Could one of you get Dean, please?”

* * *

 

At least there wasn’t traffic, because Dean couldn’t keep his eyes on the road. Every few seconds, he glanced at Buffy in the rear view mirror. She tried to not notice, wary of what anger or fear may flicker in his eyes. Mostly, she stared out the window at her empty town. Sometimes, she closed her eyes as she stroked Dawn’s hair. Finally, she met his gaze in the mirror. He was right there but felt just as far away as when she’d been trapped by the demon. Close yet unreachable.

“I’m surprised you’d let me be behind you after what I did,” she said.

“You didn’t do anything, Buffy.” He sounded calm. He’d probably reassured many people who’d been possessed by demons or ghosts. But none of those people shared his bed.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

Sam turned around in the front seat, regarding Buffy with soft puppy eyes. “Did I ever tell you I spent a week possessed?”

“No.”

“Same demon even.”

Dean stole glances at her as his brother painted a vague watercolor of his week with Meg. Buffy looked at him more than Sam. All of the words unsaid roared inside of her.

“Hey, you hungry?” Dean asked.

“Starving and exhausted are sort of neck and neck.”

Walking up the apartment stairs, Buffy took a chance and brushed her fingers against his. She heard his breath catch, then a small sigh as he laced his fingers with hers. Dean’s calloused palm felt warm and familiar. He squeezed her fingers gently. _Closer_.

He lead her to his room – their room – and turned to leave. “Get some rest. I’ll see what food I can scrounge up. Lemme know if you need anything.”

“You,” she said with a catch in her throat. “I need to explain–”

“No, Buffy, you don’t.”

He was right. She didn’t have to tell him anything, but everything she’d experienced alone now felt like poison. Tears stung her eyes. “I just… I need to say some things out loud. I’ve been keeping so much in that it starts to feel like it happened to someone else.”

Dean kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed beside her. This gesture – gentle and warm while he still bore bruises she’d given him hours before – pushed her over the edge. Buffy wrapped her arms around the man she loved and began to quietly weep into his chest, her body trembling against him.

“You’re safe, Girly,” he whispered as he stroked her hair. “Start with the easy stuff.”

She took a deep breath, yet no words came. There wasn’t a safe place to start. Eventually, she said, “I love you. I love you so much, I let myself dream about the whole little chapel, picket fence, two point five and a dog deal. You know, a normal life. Then I wake up and it’s another day, another slay. Decidedly not normal. The Slayer always comes first. Even without Lucifer on the loose, I can’t take nine months off patrols. I can’t have a honeymoon.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he said. But Buffy remembered the look on his face months ago when he’d been compelled to tell her his dream of their daughter – _their daughter!_ That sparkling love of an idea wouldn’t fade so quickly.

“You didn’t have to. I wanted it for myself.” Buffy dreamed of a house full of giggles and babble and hope for the future, but once she stepped outside in those dreams, everyone locked eyes on her in disapproval. Especially the people who had died while she nested. “Then I kept thinking about Nikki Wood and your mom and four-year-old boys at funerals and –” She sobbed into Dean’s chest.

When her cries subsided, he said, “We don’t need to try normal, Buffy. I mean, the crying and the diapers. And they’re damn expensive, anyway. Besides, who would watch the ankle-biter while we’re hunting? Xander and Anya?”

The force of life and a person’s wants didn’t have to overlap; they could crash. “The demon lied about a lot of things, but not everything. I did… I took a pregnancy test. It came up diapers and sitters. God, I was so scared. We’re in the middle of an apocalypse; there’s no way I could… So I didn’t tell you.”

She’d been testy and tired for weeks, but who wouldn’t be with dozens of strangers in their home? She’d lost all interest in most food, and felt nauseous whenever she ate. One day back when Sunnydale was still semi-occupied, she’d run out to pick up yet more tampons and seeing the pregnancy testers beside them hit her like a ton of bricks. It was days before she could sneak the time to take the test. She didn’t want to have to see anyone after. So Buffy sat alone in the bathroom in the middle of the night with terrifying confirmation of a future couldn’t have.

Dean held her tighter. She wished she could see his face. In a near whisper, he said, “I wish you’d’ve told me. I would have…have done whatever you need.”

She shook her head into his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt. “I kept playing it out in my mind, but every face you made in my head made it worse. Happy, sad, angry. It didn’t matter. I figured I’d handle it and tell you later. After.

“I went to LA with Giles to…to deal with it,” she sniffed. “Only, the doctor said I wasn’t pregnant. The news made me sick and angry and relieved all at once. I kept thinking how much, if things were different, I’d want to have – to have–”

She sobbed and hiccuped through her last words while Dean, cradling her head to his chest, started to rock her, whispering, “You’re okay. I got you.”

Buffy took a deep breath and continued. “I kept thinking, _Oh god, this is going to happen again_. I didn’t want to feel Those Feelings: The Sequel. Maybe best thing would be to pull the bandaid off? The longer we’re together, the more of a life I want with you. And I know you want it, too. But I couldn’t make myself do it. Maybe I’m selfish, leaving you dangling like that. Miserable with you felt better than not being with you at all.”

Dean shifted until he was face to face with her, cupping her tear-streaked face in his hands. “Do you want to be together?”

Her chin trembled and she nodded.

“Then we’re together. The only thing that could keep me away from you is you asking me to stay away. Forget the past. Don’t worry about the future. You. Me. Here. Now. I love you, Buffy.”

Despite herself, Buffy dreamed of the future.

* * *

 

_At least we’ve maintained some civility_ , thought Giles as he lifted the kettle from the stove and filled his mug. He would have to drink it black, but at least it was tea.

“Coffee?” begged Margo, opening and closing cabinet doors as if one was possibly hiding barista elves.

“If Xander and Robin get the generator working–” There was a thump and the purr of an engine as all the lights and clocks winked to life. “Well now, it appears I knew the magic words.”

He left her cuddling the coffee maker, dodged the knot of girls racing and shoving their way to the bathroom and reclaimed his arm chair in the living room. Setting his steaming mug on the coffee table, he picked up the two puzzling books – _Vessels of Earth_ and _Path of the Huntress_. Both were written by the Order of the Oracle, a Slayer-worshipping cult based in Greece that had died out, whether from disease or assassination was never clear, in the thirteenth century. Little was known about them other than that they venerated the Slayer as a goddess and disavowed the story of how the Slayer came into being. Scholars had long thought their teachings, odd as they were, lost, yet Giles held two copies of their work in his hands. Work that had so far been startlingly true.

Several of the girls gasped. A couple screamed. Giles followed their gazes to just behind his left shoulder where Gabriel and Castiel stood. “The Winchesters are not here,” he said calmly.

“I know,” said Gabriel, “but they’re on their way. At least, that’s one of several things Dean yelled at me when I appeared in his bed this morning.”

“Dean is very particular about personal space, although he has yet to explain to me what dimensions of space he requires,” said Castiel as he strode toward the girls.

“Chill out, girl,” Rona said to a teen who was sobbing and backing away. “He’s gonna fix your finger like he everybody else. Right, Mr. Giles?”

“Certainly,” he said. “I hope,” he mumbled into his tea.

Castiel cut through the crowd, healing everything from broken bones to bad bruises. Gabriel followed in his wake, touching him whenever he started to glow. “You’re fallen and on a road trip. Stop using all your energy on roadside attractions,” Gabriel advised his brother.

Betje leaned in the doorway looking the angels over. “I never believed in you. Thought you were old, worthless superstitions. Now that you are here, you are even more disappointing.”

“Betje!” chided Steph, smacking her on the arm, “Show some respect.”

Gabriel twisted his mouth in amusement. “Lemme guess, you wanted a harp, wings, the whole light show?”

“No,” said Betje crossing her arms and refusing to break her gaze. “I wanted you to care.”

“How can you say that?” asked Steph, caught in a wave of religious fervor and optimism. “They’re here to help. With Heaven on our side, we can’t lose.”

“Heaven ain’t on your side, kiddo,” Gabriel confessed.

“Are you just here to help the holy roller set?” asked Anya. “Because they are far from here. Like, Oklahoma or Tasmania far.”

Gabriel surveyed the crowd before breaking into a wide grin. “How’s this for help?” He snapped his fingers and they were all on a white beach, the sun sparkling on the blue water. The defiant girls hulaed in their grass skirts and leis, while the others celebrated their sudden beach vacation. With wide eyes and horrified hoots, Xander, Spike, Andrew and Robin fire danced. Still in his trench coat, Castiel floated on a surfboard in the ocean. Gabriel took a sip of his cocktail before stretching out on a beach chair.

Giles, pleased he’d only been subjected to floral swim shorts and a competing floral shirt, sat beside him. “What are the chances that the Winchesters survive killing Death?”

“What’s a cockroach’s chance in Chernobyl?”

“We’re discussing people, not bugs.”

“Same difference. Dad asked us not to step on either.” Giles was stone faced as the angel smirked at him over his sunglasses. “Look, I’ve put all my chips on these two. Even when they shouldn’t win, somehow they do. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Dad’s looking out for them. If they do fail… maybe I can help get Lucy out of here for you. Get you back to Hellmouth Sweet Hellmouth.”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not concerned with when things will be back to Sunnydale normal; rather I’m concerned for the happiness of someone I love.”

Gabriel snorted a laugh and flicked his hand, causing a wave to crash down on Castiel who clung to his board. “I’m an excellent Plan B! I’m sure you remember Glory? Hell god. She could barely maintain form here; your world and its petty concerns were so small. The bitch has nothing on me.”

Giles nodded. “It seems you’ve been watching us for some time.”

“I like to peek in when everything else is in reruns. Whew! That Slayer of yours is something else.”

“In that case, I don’t need to remind you that I killed Glory,” Giles said with a steely glare.

The angel pushed his sunglasses up on his head and gazed at him with cunning, whiskey-colored eyes. In a low voice, he said, “I can’t tell if you are brave or stupid.”

“It is said that love makes fools of us all,” Giles replied with a smile.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe that of all the places you could have shown up, you ran into Rufus,” said Sam glancing at Buffy in the rearview mirror with a big dimpled grin.

After her possession and patching things up with Dean, Buffy had slept a solid ten hours, the most sleep she’d had in weeks. Had an angel not appeared in bed between them, she might still be asleep. It was only on the ride to her house that she remembered to tell anyone what had happened with the portal.

“I got the feeling the fountain is a typical gateway – not a Disneyland-level monster attraction, but Dollywood for sure. I don’t know if everything comes from the In-Between, though. Wow, I sound like I roll dice in my mom’s basement,” she said with a sudden frown. “Anyway, something nasty had come through a week before. Rufus was there hunting it.”

“Too bad you didn’t get to meet Bobby,” Dean said as he stroked her hair.

“I was nervous to meet him without you,” she said quiet enough that her words didn’t travel to their siblings in the front seat. Bobby, gruff and doubtful, had only been interested in her as a means of getting in touch with his boys. She, the girlfriend, was an amusing sidenote. “Do you think he’d like me?”

“Damn straight.”

“We’re here!” Dawn sang out as they pulled up to the house.

Buffy used to breathe a sigh of relief when it came into view. Though the walls had been breached a few times, she could more or less sleep peacefully there surrounded by her family, the claws of night kept at bay. Now it looked like a frat house nightmare with the anti-demon symbols painted all over it, an overgrown yard, and a fleet of cars out front.

It was just a building.

Dean squeezed her shoulders. “Ready?” Early in their relationship she’d found his childhood of shuffled motel rooms and sleeping in the car horrifying. Once he’d told her home was who you shared your space with. It had sounded naively optimistic for him, but now it made sense.

“As long as we’re together,” she said, a small smile on her lips.

She braced herself for the scowling faces of the Potentials, but instead the moment they opened the door, she, Dean, Sam and Dawn were on a white beach where the Potentials laughed and danced. Buffy’s winter white skin glared against her gold string bikini. “Am I really this pale? I look like a ghost!”

“I think you look awesome,” said Dean with a giant smile.

Anya in a white and pink gingham bikini bounded over to them with a beach ball in her hands. “Thank God! Are you here to save us?” She eyed Sam, now shirtless and in low-slung swim shorts. “Maybe not too soon?”

“Save you?” asked Dawn. “From the beautiful sun and awesome beach?”

Anya offered them a pained grin. “I can’t put this ball down. Have you seen Xander? He’s going to burn his beautiful body.” She gestured toward the men. Xander was crying for help as he twirled a tornado of flames around himself.

Her friends were fire dancing. The Potentials were playing. Where was Giles? Where was Willow? Down the beach a man with wavy brown hair sipped a large drink. It was the angel who’d woken her up only a few hours before. She headed his way.

Trying to act more calm than she felt, Buffy lounged beside him and put on a dazzling smile. “I’m not sure if you just gave me beach front property or ruined my house,” she said. Dawn had filled her in on the angels’ dramatic arrival, though Buffy doubted they were in Sunnydale for miracles or other acts of benevolence.

“Buffy, this is the archangel Gabriel,” said Giles.

“Giles?! Where are you?” She followed his voice to the other side of the angel’s lounge chair, and found her mentor’s head sticking out of the sand. “What the?”

“He’s in timeout,” said the angel, tossing aside his empty glass and conjuring another as Buffy and the Winchesters dug at the sand around Giles.

No longer feeling wary, Buffy flipped Gabriel’s chair over, sending him sprawling in the sand.

“Woo-hoo! Slayer, you gotta temper! I was just trying to give your stressed crew a moment of fun. A ‘thank you’ would have been fine.”

“Thank you? Do you think a beach party _in my house_ begins to make up for the hundred plus times you killed Dean and all the torment you put Sam through?”

Gabriel stood up and brushed sand off of his shirt. “Are you guys still hung up on that?”

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

“Believe it or not, I’m here to help.”

“Not.” Buffy practically spit the word.

He squinted at her, most likely considering how to smite her before saying, “Fine.” With a snap of his fingers, they were all back in her house.

Xander, Spike, Andrew, and Robin, still in their grass skirted fire dancing costumes, exchanged glances before slinking out of the living room.

“Dawn, could you please get Willow?” Buffy asked.

“I see what killed the party,” one of the Potentials muttered.

“Bite me,” snapped Buffy.

Betje’s usually stoic face broke into a wide smile. “Feeling better then?”

“Much.” Buffy, already sick of the house, grabbed Gabriel by the collar and dragged him to the backyard.

The Winchesters and Giles followed.

“Why should we believe this sudden change of heart?” Sam asked. “Back home, people call you Loki, Anansi, Trickster.”

“I haven’t killed any of you,” said Gabriel, “I feel that should count for something.”

“No killing,” said another man with piercing blue eyes as he hung his drenched coat on the railing. He could only be Castiel. When he dried off, Buffy would give him a hug.

Gabriel shrugged. “I thought about what you said, about standing up to my brothers. Look, I like the world. Lava cake and March Madness. Star Wars and tentacle porn. Humans make amazing things, and I don’t want that to go away. I thought hiding you in the Witch’s world would work, at least hold things off, but I didn’t expect Lucifer to squeeze through–”

“Witch’s world?” Dean cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

Gabriel cut him off with a massive sigh. “Do I have to explain _everything_ to you simpletons?

“Before Dad took off, he gave each group of gods the same starter kit – Earth, stars, newly-upright people. He was worried with only one Earth and a power vacuum, his precious humans would be wiped out. Many of these worlds became war zones as their gods fought for power and have since descended into Hell dimensions. A few have soldiered on creating the same music, fighting the same wars, birthing most of the same people.”

“And this world is ruled by witches? Where are we from?” asked Sam.

“You are from the original Earth, the Earth ruled over by Michael. This vampire-riddled Earth was given to the group you might call the Parthenon.”

“Parthenon?” repeated Dean with a skeptical look on his face. “You’re telling us all those Greek gods are real, and we’re all puppets of Zeus?”

“Keep up, loverboy. I said it was given to something _you’d call_ the Parthenon. Just because you name something doesn’t mean you created it. You may know names like Zeus and Hecate, but – like all your attempts at writing divinity – that doesn’t mean you got any of the details right.”

A shout drew their attention to the porch.

“You are trespassing, angel.” The booming alto came from Willow, floating, white-eyed and blurry as if her body was undecided between one form or three.

“She was fine until we came outside, I swear!” said Dawn.

Gabriel, his body rigid and his eyes glued on Willow, looked something close to frightened. “We’re not staying, Hecate. Just gonna round up some strays and hop back to the Angelverse.”

Willow cocked her head to the side as she began to glow. “Your strays are not bending my world, angel.”

“Sam and Dean maybe not, but Lucifer is going to burn your world to the ground before he comes back for ours.”

“He has been little trouble so far.”

“Little trouble?” shouted Buffy, who had no idea what what possessing her friend. “He’s come after me and my friends how many times? He’s killing off the Potentials.”

“I will make more vessels. I only need one to house her, and now I have two.”

“Is that all you care about?” Giles stood firm, his eyes blazing with fury. “You’d let all the people you rule over burn to keep this huntress locked away?”

“Artemis knew the cost when she tried to bring her father back.”

Artemis. Buffy knew that name. She felt something inside her glow.

“Lucifer will kill all the witches,” added Castiel. “Isn’t that where you draw your power from? The more spells they cast, the stronger you become. He will slaughter them all. With the rest of the Parthenon dead or outcast, nothing will prevent him from killing you, too.”

Willow floated down until she was standing on her own. “Collect what you need, then go. You do not belong here, angel.” With a shudder, regular non-glowy Willow fell to her knees and vomited.

“Hey guys,” she said. “This isn’t embarrassing at all. How’d I get out here?”

* * *

 

Willow had yet to meet the angels, though she’d heard plenty of talk about their arrival and healings (and speculation concerning what they’d done to Buffy). Coincidentally, every time they’d appeared, Willow had been somewhere else.

What worried her – worried her enough to keep it a secret – was that she couldn’t go to them. Every time she thought about it, a sick feeling blossomed from her gut to her bones. Not fearful, but weary, as if meeting angels were the same as a long car trip to spend a holiday with a hostile, racist relative.

When Dawn had burst into her room with a foreign feeling like joy plastered on her face, Willow didn’t think the angels could be involved. The girl’s smile was infectious, her _c’mon_ ’s easy to obey. Plus, Dawn’s arrival meant Buffy was back, and Willow felt she would explode if she had to wait to embrace her friend a second longer.

The moment Willow set foot outside and cast her eyes on a small man who looked three seconds away from being beaten by the Winchesters, she felt her insides turn outside. Her vision went white, and the power surging through her split her into pieces.

At least she thought she was in pieces. When her vision came back, she was just Willow, looking at a puddle of puke while an audience gathered around her.

“Hey guys,” she said. “This isn’t embarrassing at all. How’d I get out here?” She tried to sit back on her knees, but gravity had other plans. She curled into a ball on the lawn, clutching her head and moaning.

Her friends were talking, shouting, picking her up and prodding her. Her head lolled against someone’s chest. She was in Sam’s arms. He smelled nice.

She could barely understand her friends as they carried her inside. Willow felt like they were all in a different room, their voices coming through in nonsense clips.

A blue-eyed stranger touched her, and it felt like Willow’s skin turned into hissing snakes.

He drew back as if burned. “It’s, uh, just a migraine. She’s alone now, but I don’t think Hecate wants me touching her vessel.”

_Alone now?_

A memory came rushing back to her, cutting through the last few chaotic months. A memory of Tara – her sweet smile and soft eyes – urging Willow to kill herself. It was the night she’d met The First; the night Lucifer the fallen archangel had tried to kill her.

He’d failed. He’d tossed Willow in the sky to fall to certain death, and he failed. Something had come screaming out of her, something powerful and primal and ancient. Something Willow knew she had tapped into months prior when she’d tried to end the world. Something inside of her that she did not understand.

No, Willow wasn’t alone.

Sam laid her on her bed. He held a glass to her lips, and before she knew it, she’d drained the water.

Sleep sped towards her. Willow closed her eyes. Long fingers interlaced with hers.

She was not alone.

* * *

 

Alone in the basement, Spike had just traded his grass skirt for black jeans when he noticed a stain on the concrete floor. He crouched down to touch it. His fingers bore the unmistakable smell of blood. He hoped it belonged to the Potential who had been injured the day before.

What had happened down here was still shrouded in mystery for most of the house. Buffy had come in with a demon. Blood and screams. Angels. Now Buffy was Buffy.

He shouldn’t have blanks. He should have been there. If anyone knew how to fight their possession, it was Spike the ex-vampire. But his new, quasi-human self was a little more fragile. His beating from demon-Buffy had left his face looking like a too-ripe-by-weeks fruit – black and purple, soft and oozing. He’d barely been able to see straight when he’d knocked her out. The morning’s forced fire dancing had given him a splitting migraine.

Spike wiped the dried blood on his jeans and crawled into his cot. After what may have been minutes or hours, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Too tired to care, Spike didn’t even open his eyes. “Sorry, show’s over. I’ve ‘ung up my grass skirt. Unless you want more of a Chippendale.”

“The cartoon rodents?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

Spike sat up. The blue-eyed angel stood alone in the basement, head cocked to the side like a confused puppy.

“The what?” Spike asked.

“I believe Dean showed me Chip and Dale. They were…squeaky.”

“Cartoon trivia is going to be super helpful for killing Death.” Spike’s head hurt. Beholding the strange creature in front of him, he desperately wanted a cigarette for the first time in months. “Speaking of, why aren’t you with your bestie?”

“Dean? He is busy arguing with Gabriel. They have history.” The angel looked around the room in that awkward, trying-to-blend way that Spike had seen on many vampires. It was obvious Castiel wasn’t entirely used to rooms, casual conversation, or having a body.

“Can’t count me as a fan of the bugger either.” Spike’s curiosity overrode his tiredness. “The other angels. They more like you or like him?”

Castiel dropped his piercing gaze to his hands. After a beat that filled the room with shame, he said, “Neither.”

“Why do I get the feeling they aren’t all miracles and kumbaya?”

“My brothers and sisters prefer swords of wrath and blind obedience.”

Which meant Castiel was not one to blindly obey. At least not now. Spike could respect that. The angels had arrived with a song and dance about Horsemen and the Winchesters’ destiny, but how much would a rebellious angel care about destiny?

“You sleep in a demon trap?” Castiel asked.

“Not doing much sleeping,” Spike said.

“But you are not a demon.”

Spike couldn’t tell if it was a question or statement. “No, I’m not.”

“What are you?” the angel asked again.

Spike had already dodged the question, unsure of how to answer, but there was an earnestness in Castiel’s face that Spike couldn’t ignore.

Castiel mistook Spike’s silence as a cue to sit beside him on the cot. “But you were possessed?”

_How do the Winchesters put up with this?_ Spike tried to glare at the angel through his puffy eyes. “Do I look like I’m up for twenty questions?”

“Sorry, I’ll get to the point.” Castiel stamped his palm on Spike’s forehead. A hot blast laid Spike flat on the bed. Sparks danced through the angel’s skin, as if he were a downed powerline. Though he felt disoriented, Spike no longer hurt.

“I apologize for taking so long to heal your injuries –” Spike bolted from the bed to the mirror “– but having Gabriel around tends to derail things.” Castiel sounded almost bashful about the delay. He may not be able to pass for human, but he had a strong idea of what it was to be an angel.

Spike ran his hand over his smooth, healed face. He felt strong. Alert. Whole. “Well, I think I was a might bit ‘andsomer before, but it’ll do. Adds to my roguish charm.”

Castiel did not laugh or smile or roll his eyes. Again, he cocked his head like a dog desperately trying to understand.

The healing made Spike feel charitable. “Yeah, I was possessed of a sort. You see that with your angel-vision?”

“You’re magnificent.”

“Come again?”

“Your soul. Your vessel. They show some damage and cracks from the possession, but they are vast and brilliant – nearly as bright and large as Buffy’s. And she’s holding a goddess.”

“‘old on. _Goddess_?” Spike always knew Buffy was special. The word was surprising to his ear, but not his heart.

“It’s a long story,” the angel said.

Spike leaned against the wall, enjoying the energy and strength teaming through him. No wonder the Winchesters liked having and angel around. “I tell you mine, you tell me yours?”

The angel nodded.

“I don’t know what I am. Like a lot of monsters, I started human. Grew tired of rules, of following them only to get kicked in the teeth. Grew tired of the ‘elplessness. So I became a vampire.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing.

“Spent a hundred plus years kicking about, taking what I wanted, killing when I wanted.” Spike’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then I met Buffy, and all I wanted to be was a man.” He cleared his throat. “Winchesters cast the demon out, and now I’m this.”

“It takes bravery to turn one’s back on power,” Castiel said.

Spike wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t feel he’d been brave. The whole point in becoming a vampire had been to cloak running away as rebellion. He’d even changed his accent, remade himself from head to toe. No, he hadn’t been brave, but he was ready to be.

* * *

 

It wasn’t even noon when Dean cracked open his second beer. The day had already been wilder than he’d expected, but at least the refrigerator was working again. Warm beer was less of a comfort.

The back porch was surprisingly quiet. The Potentials seemed to be steering clear of him. He liked that. Gave him time to think. _Goddesses and angels and horsemen. What sort of Oz shit –?_

Buffy joined Dean on the porch. Soon her head rested on his shoulder, her hand on his thigh. She was warm and soft, smelling, as always, of lilacs and vanilla. “I’ve hit new levels of freak-a-zoid.”

“On the bright side, you’re still smokin’ hot.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Willow’s still sleeping.”

“What is that? Two hours?” Setting his beer on the step, he drew her into his lap. He took deep breaths in her hair while caressing the strip of bare skin between her blouse and skirt. “You know, you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Now her eyes sparkled. “I love it when you get all mushy.”

“You’re mushy,” he retorted.

Castiel came out to check on his trench coat. “Still wet.”

“You can’t zap it dry?” Dean asked.

“No, um, zapping. I’m drained after healing your many wounded. This place is almost like being in an angel-warded box. It takes energy just to maintain this vessel.”

Hopping off her boyfriend’s lap, Buffy gave Castiel a big hug. “Thank you for everything.”

“You are welcome.” Castiel stared at the couple as they returned to cuddling on the porch steps. “It looks like Anna was right.”

“What?”

“Who’s Anna?”

Trying to close the topic, Dean said, “She was an angel.”

“Dean had sex with her,” Cas added.

Open-mouthed surprise burst over Buffy’s face as she looked between her annoyed boyfriend and his clueless friend. “I know we agreed to not bring up past relationships, but I’m going to need details!”

“Anna believed she was going to die and did not want to die a virgin–”

“Cas! Shut up!” Dean bellowed.

“You’re my new best friend,” Buffy said, amused more than anything.

A small smile flashed across the angel’s face. “I am flattered, Buffy, but we barely know each other.”

“Probably gonna regret askin’, but what the hell does Anna have to do with anything?”

“She hid with Gabriel for a while. Only the archangels knew of the alternate dimensions, and he had always found this one particularly interesting. After watching you for a while,” he said, gesturing at Buffy, “Anna thought you two would be happy together. It’s one of the reasons Gabriel hid you here.”

“You guys were playing Cupid?”

“No, Anna was not a cupid class –”

“Forget about it,” said Dean, squeezing Buffy’s hand. He didn’t care what the angels had thought. What mattered was the choices he and Buffy had made to be together, to stay together.

Castiel sat beside them. “The day you arrived here, my brother was only responding to my call for help. I do not think he imagined needing to bring you back.”

“I don’t wanna go back.”

“I see that, but we need you to finish this mission. The Horsemen’s rings are the only way to open the cage.”

Dean buried his face in the hollow of Buffy’s neck while she raked her fingers through his hair. He loved her more than he thought possible, but if he did nothing, Lucifer would continue attacking.

“Ready to go?” asked Gabriel as he bounded from the house.

“No,” Dean sighed. _Just a few more hours, please._

“You know I could just drag you back?”

“Gabriel, you promised you’d stop acting against their will,” said Castiel. “Part of helping means not manipulating. We are trying to show our brothers a better way.”

The archangel straightened and plastered on a fake, customer-service smile. “We need to leave now. Or maybe yesterday. We gotta go, buckaroo.”

“Why now?” Buffy asked with a bright curiosity. “I mean, I’ve had my social calendar crashed by more than one apocalypse, but those all had highly punctual prophecies tied to them. The Winchesters have been here nine months. Not a peep from you, not even when Dean was dying or Sam was abducted. Suddenly it has to be right this second. Why?”

Gabriel’s fake smile melted away. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Again, I thought everyone would be safe here. I could hide the Winchesters. No vessels for my brothers. No Apocalypse. But Lucifer snuck through.”

“Same effect though, right?” Buffy asked. “Your brothers each sit in a corner for a cosmic timeout. Only my city is now an abandoned hellscape, so thanks for that.”

“Michael’s coming,” Gabriel said.

Dean tensed. “When?”

“The cracks between worlds are currently very small,” said Cas. “Last we knew, Michael wanted to bring the Heavenly Host with him. That complicates things considerably.”

“If he decides to come on his own, there’s no stopping him,” Gabriel confessed. “That could be next month. Could be today.”

Buffy and Dean stood. She bit her lip to hold back tears and nodded at him wordlessly. Without looking away from her large, sad eyes, he asked, “Cas, you promise to bring me back?”

“I cannot.”

Dean shot his friend a wounded look.

“I mean, I would, but even slipping some of my grace through the cracks between worlds to heal you, Dean, nearly killed me. Coming here while moving anything takes power greater than what I possess.”

“My kinda power!” said Gabriel with a satisfied grin.

Dean wanted to throw up. He had to go. Lucifer was going to tear up Buffy’s world while Michael destroyed his. They would have their cosmic showdown in the end no matter what. But with Gabriel as his guide? “Kinda hard to trust you.”

A heartbeat passed while the angel considered him. “Who do you love back home?”

The question stopped Dean cold. Buffy held her breath.

“Bobby Singer,” Castiel answered, and Gabriel disappeared.

“Why the fuck did you tell him that?” Dean couldn’t bear to think about poor wheelchair-bound Bobby accepting an angel’s smiting for the sake of his boys. He could feel Buffy propping him up as his knees started to shake.

“I know you’ve had a difficult history with Gabriel, but believe me, Dean, he doesn’t want the world to end. He may be humanity’s strongest advocate.”

Considering Cas’ history of misjudging people, Dean did not feel comforted.

With a flutter of wings, Gabriel returned with Bobby Singer at his side.

Bobby dropped his duffle bags and sprinted across the yard to meet Dean. “I missed you, boy,” he cried into Dean’s shoulder as the two men embraced.

“Holy shit! Is that Bobby?” Sam dashed out of the house to hug the old man. “You’re walking!”

“This asshole popped into my house, zapped me outta my chair, and said to pack my bags if’n I wanted to see you.” He bottom lip quivered as he patted Dean’s cheek. “Of course I wanted to see my boys.” The three men clung to each other, afraid they might be separated at any moment, reveling in the familiarity of supporting one another.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” said Gabriel before disappearing with Castiel.

After a while, the hug broke down to back patting. Buffy stood just beyond them, beaming at Bobby.

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat and braced himself to do something he’d never imagined doing. “Bobby, I want you to, uh, to meet someone–”

“You must be Buffy.” His stern face curved into a smile when he said her name. “Rufus says you owe ‘im ten bucks.”

* * *

 

They ushered Bobby inside, past the crowd of curious onlookers, and made lunch with their meager supplies. He listened stoically to the Winchesters’ story of the past nine months, where they were, Buffy’s role, and Lucifer’s war.

“Hold on a minute,” said Xander through bites of his sandwich, “where was I during this big Buffy is a goddess reveal?”

“We were being very far from the angels, honey,” said Anya, patting his arm. “They’re terrifying,” she said to Bobby.

“I think they’re fun,” said Dawn.

Warmth rising in her cheeks, Buffy explained, “I’m not a goddess. I’m just a holding cell, I guess.” The Slayer wasn’t a girl blended with the heart of a demon. The Slayer was the vessel for the Goddess of the Hunt. The revelation was only a few hours old; her feelings swirled and twisted in her gut. Tonight at home, she and Dean would crawl into bed, and in the comfort of the dark, she would unleash all of her feelings. As always, he’d bat away the bad ones, finding the one golden thought to prop her up.

“Different world; different rules. Sounds like I got a buncha readin’ to do,” said Bobby. He sounded as grouchy and grumbly as he had over the phone. Apparently curmudgeon was his neutral.

“Was there any explanation of why Gabriel sent you back in time?” Xander asked.

“No, he kinda skipped that part,” Dean said.

“I don’t think he did send you back in time,” said Bobby, taking a pull of his beer.

Sam chuckled. “It’s definitely 2003. It may not mean much to you, but the internet is crap.”

“You idjits said you been here nine months, but you ain’t been gone more than a few weeks. Buffy, when’d you run into Rufus?”

“Yesterday,” she said. “God, how was that only yesterday?”

“It was a week ago. ‘Nuf time for him to make it to my place for some research before taking off again.

“All I’m sayin’ is you’re in a different world with different rules governed by the goddess of witchcraft and populated by a buncha natural witches. Wouldn’t be surprised to learn time moves a little differ’ntly.” Bobby smiled smugly.

“That makes perfect sense,” said Giles, nodding his head.

“No ganging up, you two,” warned Dean.

The backdoor banged as Gabriel let himself in. “Ready to go?”

Anya, Xander, and Andrew scurried out of the room.

“Where’s Cas?”

“He had a role to play back in the Angelverse. Nothing has stopped since you left.

“Look, I promised my brother I wouldn’t kill you or mess with you, and I love my brother, okay?” He snapped. “I love _all_ of my brothers. No matter how we slice this, I lose two of them. You’re afraid of losing something good, and I get that. I can never get back the days before Dad split. The days when I had a _family_. So no surprise cancer or goodbye lungs. You have my word. And since that’s shit to you, I brought a parting gift.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers and nothing happened.

Dean snickered. “Got a performance problem?”

Screams rang from the yard. Everyone rushed to the windows to see two women, one middle aged with dark hair and a younger blonde, both covered in blood and tattered clothes screaming and clinging to each other. The Winchesters and Bobby bolted outside.

The blonde. She was the body Caleb had dropped at their door; the form Lucifer had used at the winery.

Buffy grabbed some blankets and ran outside. The blonde, her eyes wide and wild, trembled and sputtered in Dean’s arms. “You’re okay, Jo. I got you.”

“Baby, you okay?” asked the other woman, while patting the younger.

Dean ran his hand over Jo’s stomach. “She’s fine, Ellen. You’re both safe.”

As Buffy wrapped them both in blankets, Dean took off toward Gabriel. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Castiel told me these two were important to you. Wasn’t easy for me to smuggle them out of the Great Beyond,” the angel declared. “I am going to lose my brothers, Dean. But maybe you can keep your family together? Now, are you ready to kill Pestilence and Death?”

Looking over his shoulder at the Summerses, Harvelles, Sam and Bobby – everyone he loved, Dean nodded his head.

Buffy quickly guided the two women upstairs. “Bathroom. Sorry, your shower will probably be cold. Bedroom next door is mine. Wait there, I’ll come back and get you some clothes.”

“What’s your name, sweetie?” asked Ellen with a small twang and smaller smile.

“I’m Buffy. Welcome to my world.”

She rushed outside again, through the gathering crowd, and found Dean loading a bag from arsenal in the trunk of his Impala. “You’re going back.” The statement tumbled from her lips and punched her in the gut.

“I gotta… Michael’s not going to stop. Besides, the Harvelles dies saving our  asses.”

She nodded. This was their life: saving people.

“Take care of them for me, Girly. They’re the only family I got left.”

Dropping the Impala’s keys in her hand, he said, “Give these to Bobby.”

“You don’t trust me with her?”

“No, I’ve seen you drive.”

His green eyes sparkled with the familiar blend of fear, determination and humor that was their lives. His were the only eyes she’d ever gazed into and felt known.

He ran his thumb over her cheek and smiled, “Buffy, I –”

“If you choose this moment to say ‘I love you,’ I will kick you in the balls.” Today it sounded too much like goodbye.

A chuckle rumbled from deep in his throat. “How ‘bout I bring back a couple toys for that box under my bed, huh? We haven’t broken that out in a while.”

“Mmm, you promise?”

The sinful curve of his lip was reply enough. She stretched on her tiptoes, pulling him closer to her as he wrapped his strong arms around her. His tongue tripped over her bottom lip before slipping into her mouth. A small moan escaped her as she reveled in the sweet taste of him.

Then there was a flapping rustle of wings as she jerked to the ground, the cold air rushing to fill the space where Dean had been.

Already, she thought of setting up the portal again, of joining him in the fight.

Warm, slim fingers slipped into her hand. “He’ll be back,” said Dawn. “No Horseman is powerful enough to keep him away from you.”

Buffy reminded herself to breathe, to replace the fear and mystery in her body with life. She had to move forward for Dawn, for her friends, for the Potentials, for everyone beyond the hellish rim of Sunnydale. She had to be The Slayer.

Turning to face the crowd that had spilled out of her house, she said, “Let’s hit the books. If the Winchesters can kill Death, we can kill Caleb."


End file.
